


When I Smile, I'm Not Smiling At You

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hate-to-love, Insecure!Phil, M/M, Undercover as a Couple, mention of infidelity, no infidelity from main characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with Barton, Phil knows, is that he's a cocky, arrogant, good-at-everything bastard who's too pretty by half.  </p><p>Also, the first time they met Barton had to swoop in and rescue him from a mess of his own devising.</p><p>Phil really hates that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Smile, I'm Not Smiling At You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdamantSteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/gifts).



> For the wonderful AdamantSteve, who wanted insecure Phil, hate-to-love, and undercover as couple. Happy birthday, birthday triplet!!!
> 
> Beta'd by the always fabulous infiniteeight. THANK YOU!!!

Phil Coulson is having a very bay day. It starts at two in the morning when his sister calls him in tears. Jamie is cheating on her. Phil very carefully does _not_ look at the gold wedding band still sitting on his bedside table, or the empty side of the bed he still can't bring himself to sleep on, and instead spends the next two hours on the phone with her. They commiserate about men until four am., when Barbara suddenly remembers the time difference and apologizes for waking him. Phil reassures her that he understands – because he _does_ , and he loves his baby sister – but he only gets another hour of fragmented sleep before his alarm starts to ring.

He skips his morning jog, which usually centres him, and takes an extra-long hot shower instead. He still has to hustle to the subway station to make his train. Once there, he realizes that he’s forgotten his lunch and will have to do without. The good-looking guy at the ticket station doesn’t even glance at him. Phil's bad mood deepens.

When he gets to headquarters, Shivakumar is waiting for him. Phil learns that the op that had been scheduled for today – the one he’d spent the past week preparing for – is being shelved because the target has abruptly changed his travel plans. Instead they are being reassigned to a bag-and-tag downtown. Phil suppresses his groan. He _hates_ bag-and-tag’s. They are nothing operations usually given to the lowest junior agents, a chance to get into the field with minimal consequences for failure.

He skims the folder Shivakumar hands him while they walk to the briefing room. The target is Brian Wells, a gang member peripherally linked to HYDRA whose been cropping up on their radar for weeks now. Phil reads the information on likes and dislikes and preferred local establishments and feels dread pool in his stomach – Brian Wells is gay.

As one of the very few 'out' gay agents, Phil has a terrible suspicion regarding his sudden involvement in this operation. He gets to the conference room and has to suppress the urge to bang his head against the wall when he sees Nick is the senior agent in charge.

When Phil had finally come out to his best friend, he'd been prepared for a lot of reactions – anger, hatred, and disgust, primarily – but he’d never guessed that Nick’s eyes would light up with _glee_. There have since been several undercover operations that Phil has found himself 'volunteered' for.

He’s hated every one of them, and this is looking to be no exception.

The rest of their quickly-assembled team arrives and the meeting gets started. Nick reviews that Brian Wells is an unknown element – a person of interest connected in some way to Dr. Denis Lebruit. Nick’s been chasing Lebruit for almost six months now, determined to take down his biological weapons cell. 

Phil’s glad his sexuality isn’t the _only_ reason he’s here – there _are_ other gay agents, and Phil’s a level five now, he shouldn’t be brought in for bag-and-tag’s. He knows Nick’s going to want his best on this. Phil's proud to be one of them, but that does nothing to dispel the sick sensation in his stomach. 

He hasn’t done undercover since David left him. He’s not sure he can handle it. 

They go over their assignments, break for lunch, and then Carol from Costuming comes in. She’s got outfits for each of them. Most of the agents on the team will be wearing the standard slacks-and-shirt outfit – standard for S.H.I.E.L.D., that is. Op-issued clothing is always constructed with a non-toxic radioactive fibre element that shows up on scanners, so agents can be located via satellite. The two women on the team – Melinda May and Susan Pierce – will be his backup inside the bar. Their clothing is designed to be more late-afternoon-early-evening-bar-hopping than the rest of the team; they’re both wearing tight-fitting shirts that display a shade too much cleavage. 

Phil, as the bait, gets the worst clothes. He’s been through this enough times to close his eyes against the glare he wants to shoot at Nick and stands still as Carol fusses over him. He’s manhandled into a black t-shirt that’s two sizes too small and a pair of pants that hug his ass in a way that makes him uncomfortable. Carol carefully applies a tiny amount of kohl to his eyes and runs some gel through his thinning hair. She hands him a leather jacket with weapons sewn into the lining. When she shows him his own reflection in the mirror, Phil frowns. 

It doesn’t look like him. It looks like the man he tried to be fifteen years ago, the man David fell in love with and then dumped (married, cheated on repeatedly, and dumped) when he realized it wasn’t who Phil actually was. 

He pushes all of that to the back of his mind as best he can, and catches Nick’s eye quick enough to see the flash of sympathy there. Nick’s one of the few friends who knows his history, and he at least appreciates how difficult this is for him. 

He’s not about to change the op based on Phil’s personal feelings, of course, but he appreciates the effort. That’s something.

They run over their strategy one more time and then head out. Nick passes around the communication gear. Phil takes his comm and fits it into his ear.

The bar, when they arrive, is nauseating – even at four in the afternoon the strobe-lights are flashing and the dance floor is lit-up. Phil thinks about the kind of guy David would flirt with, the kind of scumbag someone like Brian Wells would want. He plasters a slick smile on his face and goes in. He is very aware of the bud in his ear and the fact that the team can hear every word he says.

It takes him less than thirty seconds to find Wells, even in the crowd that’s slowly building on the dance floor. Wells is sitting at the bar flirting with the bartender. Phil meanders through the crowd and leans his elbows on the counter next to his mark, just close enough to get his attention. He keeps his eyes off Wells and on the bartender, waiting with a bored expression while the two flirt. Finally, the bartender looks over at him. Phil waits a beat, raises his eyebrows, and orders a scotch and soda. The bartender flushes and makes him one.

Phil tastes the drink when it arrives and frowns, but tips well. He turns around to survey the bar and keeps his eyes away from Wells. He’s pretty sure that's the best way to capture this guy's attention.

He isn’t wrong. Wells gives him thirty seconds before he leans in. “See anything you like?” 

Phil shrugs and takes another sip of his drink. He lets his eyes slide over the crowd again before resting on Wells, scanning him, then looking back at the bar. “Maybe,” he says in a lazy drawl. “The night’s young.”

“All the more reason to get it started right,” Wells says, and reaches out a hand to palm Phil’s ass.

Phil _freezes_.

He literally freezes – he can’t move. A combination of sick rage, anger, and – most surprisingly – _guilt_ , tries to claw up his throat. He can’t do this – he can’t – what will David say?

Davis is gone. David’s been gone for _six months_. David fucked half-a-dozen guys, some of them right in their apartment, and left him. Phil doesn’t owe David a damn _thing_.

The truth does nothing to dislodge the panic threatening him. 

Wells frowns. He removes his hand. He seems to know that somethings wrong. Phil tries desperately to get back in character – he’s got to get his head in the game or he’s going to lose Wells, drop the op, disappoint Nick and then where will he be? Dumped and out of a job, homeless and on the street and a loser, loser, loser – just like David always said.

“What the fuck?” a strange man says.

Phil jerks out of his panic with an ill-concealed lurch. There’s an _extremely_ hot guy standing in front of him. His handsome face is frowning, his arms crossed in front of his chest and, Jesus, this guy has _amazing_ arms – even in the midst of his hysteria, Phil can appreciate that. 

“So this is where you’ve been coming,” the guy says, and he’s glaring at Phil. “Fuck, babe, I knew I wasn’t the only one but this is low, even for you. I mean, you suck my cock like no one ever has before, but this – I can’t do this any more. Fuck you.” He transfers his glare to Wells. “And fuck you, too. I hope you enjoy him.”

Phil snaps his jaw closed and plasters a leer on his face. He doesn’t know who this guy is or who he thinks _Phil_ might be, but he’s not about to waste the opportunity. “Aw, come on,” he says, and the memory of the words makes his hands clench into fists at his sides. “Don’t be like that.”

“Fuck you,” the guy says, and storms off.

Phil watches him go. Beside him, Wells turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “Wow, some people just can’t handle a little fun.”

Phil forces himself to look away from the stranger and shrug casually. “Ah, fuck him. He wasn’t that good of a lay, anyway.”

Wells smirks. “I am.”

Phil can feel his nails biting into his palms, but he keeps his fists hidden. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Want to head to the back and find out?”

Phil sucks on his bottom lip suggestively and trails his eyes over Wells’ chest. There is absolutely nothing there to tempt him, but this won’t last long enough for Wells to figure that out. “Definitely.”

He leads Wells into the back, and hears the rest of the team get ready. He steps sideways into the shadows the moment he crosses the threshold and the team moves in. Melinda comes up behind them and administers a fast-acting sedative. Wells goes slack and Pierce catches him before he falls. Nick scans the guy’s prints and takes a DNA sample, and tags it all in the computer. They drag Wells down the corridor and out of the building via the emergency exit they’ve already secured. Woo brings the van around and they dump him in. The rest of the team follows, but Nick stops Phil with a hand on his chest.

“Who the fuck was that, back there?”

Phil thinks of the hunk with the lickable arms. “I have no idea.”

“Me neither,” Nicks says, and turns around to head back into the bar. “So let’s go find out.”

The guy is waiting for them. He’s secured a table with several free chairs and turns to look over his shoulder when they approach. He glances at Nick and grins. “So, is this the boss-man in charge of the operation, then?”

Fury frowns, but he sits down at the table. “I am. Who the fuck might you be?”

“Name’s Barton,” the man says and sticks out his hand. “Clint Barton.” He grins sheepishly. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

 _Barton…_ Phil thinks, and then it comes to him. “You’re Hawkeye.”

The guy – Phil knows he’s an ex-Carney mercenary with incredible aim – looks momentarily surprised, like he didn’t expect them to know the name. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Phil glares at him. “You ruined my op in Caracas.” 

The mercenary blinks. “ _You’re_ the hot guy in a suit who chased me over rooftops for almost a half an hour?” He gives Phil a lingering look and grins in a way that makes Phil think of sex. “Shit, you are! That was some fun.”

“You shot the diplomatic attaché to the Brazilian embassy,” Phil grits out, forcing his mind away from the gutter.

Barton shrugs. “Yeah, but he was a bad guy.”

“That’s not the point, the _point_ is that –”

Nick holds up a hand to silence them both. “What were you doing after Wells?” he asks Barton.

The mercenary watches him for a moment before he shrugs and picks up his beer. “Lebruit is dead.”

Nick swears. 

“I took him out this morning,” Barton goes on. “A rival sector wanted him gone. I’m rounding up his associates now.” He reaches into his jacket and Phil tenses, but Barton does nothing more than pull a flash drive from his pocket. He puts it down on the table in front of him and pushes it towards Nick. “This is everything he's been working on. I torched the facility. The rival sector I spoke to didn’t get a thing.”

Nick eyes the drive for a moment before picking it up. He stares at Barton. “Why are you giving this to me?”

Barton shrugs. “You’re the good guys, right? I may be a merc, but I still have a soul. I have no idea how to best make use of that information – I figure you do.” 

Nick nods and slips the drive into his pocket. “Thank you. Are there any more of Lebruit’s associates on the run that you know about?”

Barton flashes him a grin. “Why, you offering to hire me to track them down?”

“No, I don’t want to hire you. I want to recruit you.”

Phil catches the double-blink of surprise. “You – what?”

Nick holds Barton’s gaze. “You’re obviously skilled, quick on your feet, and you figured out what we were doing here pretty damn fast. I know you’re a crack shot, and like you said – you have a soul. You won’t in five years, or in ten. Work for me, and I guarantee we’ll pay you to do what’s right.”

Barton drops his eyes and fiddles with his beer. “I’ve been doing this for seven years now, and I’m good at my job.” He peels the corner of the label away from the glass bottle, obviously thinking. Finally, he shrugs. “But I like you, and I like the way you operate,” he glances at Phil once before looking back to Fury. “That op in Caracas got my attention. I guess I’m in.”

Nick nods and stands. He leaves a tip on the table and indicates the door. “Shall we?”

The mercenary shoots him a grin and stands, tipping back his head to finish his beer. Phil catches himself tracing the lines of his throat and forces his eyes away. 

Barton’s an asshole. Yes, he’s good at his job, and Phil has a file he shares with several other agents that details the exploits of the extraordinarily skilled marksman named ‘Hawkeye’, but that doesn’t mean he thinks Barton’s going to be a good fit for S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s cocky and full of himself and far, far too good-looking. Phil’s not about to question Nick’s decision to bring him in, but he doesn’t have to like it.

The rest of the team’s gone ahead to secure their mark, so the three of them follow in Nick’s car. Back at headquarters, Nick starts Barton on paperwork. He gives him the tour and then inclines his head towards Phil. “Coulson here will show you around any more if you need it, and he’ll be your go-to guy for questions about our operation.”

Phil scowls at the back of Nick’s head and doesn’t miss the grin Nick throws him in return. He stomps down to Costuming and returns his op-issued clothes, then takes a shower to rinse the smell of the bar from his skin. 

It’s late by the time he gets back to his desk, but that doesn’t mean anything at S.H.I.E.L.D. All around him, agents are filling out paperwork or doing research. Phil sits at his desk inside the bullpen and gets to work. A bag-and-tag always means copious amounts of paperwork.

Barton swings by before he’s done for the night. He’s been cooped up with Nick for hours, but he’s still grinning and looking around like a kid in a candy store. Phil absolutely does not find that attractive.

“So, Coulson, this is where you spend your days when you’re not hitting on douche-bags in bars.”

Phil grits his teeth. “Did you have something I can help you with, Barton?”

The ex-mercenary shrugs. “Not really. Unless you want to maybe grab dinner?”

Phil glares at him. “No.”

Barton shoots him a grin. “Okay. See you tomorrow then, boss.” He flips him a jaunty salute and leaves. 

Melinda leans around her desk to watch him go. “Wow,” she says, appreciatively. “That is a _nice_ ass.”

“Shut up,” Phil grumbles. Melinda just laughs.

 

*

 

The next six months are hell. Literal hell. Phil’s not sure which particular deity he pissed off to bring this down upon himself – he’s betting on Hera; from what he remembers of the classics, she was pretty sadistic in her revenge – but whatever it was, he’s sorry already. 

Barton is _everywhere_.

He’s on the range demolishing Phil’s carefully maintained high scores, he’s in the motor pool cooing over the vehicles, and he’s in Nick’s office discussing op's. He’s charming fucking _everyone_ , and Phil is sick and tired of it.

He's too much like David – slick and disarming. Phil's been fooled by that sort of grin before; he's not about to make the same mistake twice. 

It doesn't help that Barton's somehow always in his space, despite the fact that he's rotating around S.H.I.E.L.D. while Nick tries to find a place for him. As annoying as Phil finds the man, he has to admit that Barton _is_ good at this job. He can infiltrate as well as any trained agent, and he crawls through ventilation shafts like he was born in one. He can walk around a corner and blend into almost any environment, and he can take down a mark with a single shot that absolutely _no one_ can see coming. He’s almost too good and too skilled for any one team. Everyone who works with him wants a piece of him, but Nick’s looking for the perfect fit. He hasn’t found it yet.

Phil’s also been rotating around S.H.I.E.L.D., but on the senior level. The word around the bullpen is that Monroe’s going to replace the Director soon, and he wants Nick to be his AD. The WSC is grumbling about the decision, because they don’t care for Nick’s methods or his tone, but they can’t argue that he gets results. He’s a master at finding dedicated, talented people and putting them where they’ll do the most good. It’s why he keeps pushing Phil to do better – Nick says that when he gets enough experience under his belt, he’s going to be incredible.

Phil can’t help but consistently be surprised by that. Nick knows all his shitty decisions and all his past mistakes – and yet he still counts Phil as one of his closest friends. Phil can’t bring himself to disappoint him.

Their parallel jobs means that Phil works with Barton on a half-dozen ops, and coordinates with his team much more often. Barton always has a smile and a word for him, and more than once an offer of dinner. Phil keeps their conversations short and to the point. Barton seems to get the message and back's off. He flirts with a lot of other agents, even though Phil notices he never asks anyone else out for food. He tells himself he is absolutely not charmed by that.

Things are finally starting to settle down about seven months after Barton joins S.H.I.E.L.D. Nick's proved the gossip right and has ascended to the position of Assistant Director. He calls Phil into his office.

“I have a job for you,” Nick says the moment he walks in. “It’s not going to be easy, and you’re not going to like it, but it’s important.”

Phil tries to mask his trepidation and clasps his hands behind his back. “What is it, boss?”

“Denis LeBruit has a half-brother.”

Phil curses.

“Same mother, different fathers,” Nick explains, “with different last names, so that's why we missed it the first time. His name is Henri Dubois. We think Lebruit sent him a copy of his weapons research before Barton got to him. He sold something very expensive to HYDRA and is currently spending his extra cash in Las Vegas. I need you and Barton to go to Vegas, infiltrate his entourage, and retrieve the files. We'll eliminate him later.”

“You want me to go to Vegas with _Barton_?”

Nick pinches his nose. “That's not even the worst of it.”

Phil clenches his eyes shut. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Remember Wells? We've finally figured where he fit into things – he was Dubois' lover. Now that we've got Wells in custody, Dubois has been enjoying his freedom. He seems to have a kink for men with, well, _recent_ experience. That is, he's been offering people a lot of money to have sex with their significant others. He seems to find it stimulating.”

Phil feels physically ill. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Nick's shoulders slump. “If I had anyone else I could trust with this, Phil, you know I would go to them. Barton knows Lebruit and his operation, he's stolen this information before and he can do it again. I can't send in more than two men – Dubois might be sick, but he's not an idiot. He'll spot a larger team coming. I need two men I can trust to do the job – and that's you, Phil. You and Barton.”

Phil swallows. “Nick, the last time I was undercover I _froze_.” He hates to admit it, but he needs Nick to understand. “I couldn't do it – if it hadn't been for Barton, I would have blown the op and wrecked everything. And now you want to send me in _again_?”

“I don't want to,” Nick says, holding his gaze, “but I need to. You can do this, Phil. You know how important this is.”

“I – ”

“You get in, you get Dubois' attention, you go up with him to his room and then you knock him down, take the files, and get the fuck out. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, you just have to pretend like you're okay with the plan.” He comes around the desk and squeezes Phil's shoulder. “You can do this.”

Phil holds Nick's eyes for a long moment before he sighs. “I'll try.”

“You'll succeed,” Nick says, and squeezes Phil again. “I know you will.”

 

*

 

Phil flies out with Barton that afternoon. They review everything they know about Dubois on the way to Vegas, and Phil has to admit the Intelligence so far gathered is extensive. Susan Pierce had been part of the original team and had tried to retrieve the files, but Dubois had made his preference known. 

Pierce has always left good handover notes. Phil skims them in silence.

“So,” Barton says from the seat across from him. He sounds a little nervous. “I guess this is a good chance for us to catch up, right?”

Phil doesn't bother looking up. “No.”

He can hear the other man shift. “Come on, Coulson. I know you don't like me, even if I don't know why, but we're about to get pretty handsy with each other – shouldn't we at least try and break the ice?” 

“There is no ice. We have a job to do and we're going to do it.”

Barton is silent for a moment, but it doesn't last. “It's just... listen, I didn't want to bring this up, but the day we met, you, uh... ”

Phil sighs. “I froze.”

“Well, yeah.”

Phil closes his eyes. He still feels incredibly embarrassed about that. He's always been a man who prides himself on his professionalism, and he's honest to admit that some of his dislike of Barton might stem from the fact that they only met because Barton had to rescue him from a situation in which he failed to keep his work and his personal life separate.

“That was due to a very unusual circumstance, a bad past experience, which I have since dealt with. It won't be an issue.”

It's true – Phil has finally put his ring away, and he's taken to sleeping in the middle of the bed. He hasn't exactly forgotten David – even though he wishes he could – but he's getting better at dealing with what happened. 

Phil turns deliberately back to his notes. “Why don't you read your dossier and try to focus on doing something productive?”

Barton shrugs. “I've already read it. Douche-bag. Got it.”

“It's _slightly_ more complicated than that.”

“Not really. S.H.I.E.L.D. already knows where Dubois' party is tomorrow night – we walk in like we own the place, make out for a while so he gets that we're a couple, I flash my _fantastic_ ass and get his attention, and you glower and look all respectable. There's no way he's going to be able to resist that. Then we accept his offer, follow him back to his room, and done. We retrieve the files and Fury gets to sleep better at night.”

Phil grits his teeth. “You're ass is not that fantastic.”

Barton grins. “It totally is.”

It totally is, Phil knows, and goes back to his dossier. Fuck.

 

*

 

As much as he hates to prove Barton right, the op begins exactly like Barton said it would. They infiltrate the party dressed to the nine's and Phil has to admit to himself that it would take a stronger man than Dubois seems to be to resist the siren call of Clint Barton in a well tailored suit. He swaggers into the establishment like he knows every eye is turned in his direction, and they clearly are.

Phil, for his part, flashes the party goers a glare and reels Barton in closer to him. He's pissed off and it comes across in his movements – sharp and jerky where he usually prides himself on something approaching grace. Barton just smirks at him and leans in, and Phil absolutely does not hold his breath.

Barton, for all that he puts on a good show, doesn't actually kiss him. He fits their mouths side-by-side and links his hands behind Phil's head, but when he speaks its in the serious tone of someone whose actually working.

“Dubois is second-to-the-left of the bartender, in the flashy grey suit.”

Phil's eyes dart to the bar and back. He runs his hands across Barton's shoulders and pulls him closer, making their embrace look good. “I see him.”

Barton leans back and gives him a lewd wink. “I'll get us drinks, babe,” he says in a regular voice. “Scotch and soda?”

Phil nods and watches their mark as Barton slinks over to the bar, absolutely _not_ watching Barton's ass as he goes. 

Not at all.

He does see Barton lean in to get the bartender's attention and catches the moment when Dubois looks over at him and leers. Phil finds a point just to the left of Dubois he can stare at without attracting attention while he keeps his focus on their mark. Dubois certainly looks interested. He – 

“Phil?”

A familiar voice from behind him makes him start. _No_ , Phil thinks, even as he starts to turn. _Oh god, no..._

David is standing behind him wearing a nice fitting suit and smirking. “Wow, it really is you.”

Phil stares at his ex-husband and knows his jaw is falling open. He shuts it and swallows while he automatically categorizes the small differences in David's appearance. His hair is a fraction shorter but still thick, and there are a few new lines around his eyes. They do nothing but make him look more distinguished – David was always going to age with grace. The glint in his eye is familiar, though the man hanging off his arm looks new.

“David,” Phil manages to say.

“Well, well, well,” David says, glancing over Phil in his tailored suit. “I never expected to see you here. What brings you to Vegas?”

Phil's brain is trying desperately to reboot, trying to find something he can say that will get him out of this conversation without blowing his cover, but all he can think of is, “Work.”

David's smile is cruel. “It's always work with you, isn't it, Phil? What are you doing this time?” He glances around the party. “Security?”

Phil feels himself blushing and can't make himself stop. David never thought a man with Phil's experience in the Army should settle for doing security work, even though that was honestly what Phil _was_ doing, most days. 

Phil can feel his usual defensiveness rearing its ugly head. “I – ”

“Hey, babe,” Barton says suddenly, appearing from behind him and draping himself over Phil's shoulder. His voice is sugar-sweet but hard enough to cut steel. “Who's this?”

Phil's brain short-circuits. He looks over his shoulder to see Barton glaring daggers at David.

He opens his mouth to respond, but David beats him to it. “I'm Phil's ex-husband.”

“Oh, are you?” Barton says, and it's _just_ snide enough to be insulting, like he'd expected Phil to do better. He slides a look over David's suit – well cut, but obviously not tailored – and turns, effectively giving David the cold shoulder. “The scotch they had was crap, so I got you a rum and coke.”

Phil takes the drink. He meets Barton's eyes, and whatever emotion is flashing there helps to settle him. “Thank you.”

Barton gives him a smile that's sweet and, somehow, very real. “You're welcome.”

They stare at each other for a moment and David humphs. “Well, Phil,” he says when they glance back at him. His voice is tight. “It was nice to see you again.”

“Yes,” Phil says. He lets Barton take his elbow. “Goodbye, David.” 

He follows Barton back to the bar. His hand holding the glass isn't shaking, but its a near thing. 

“Was that really your ex-husband?” Barton asks, his voice pitched low.

Phil can feel how stiff his shoulders are. “Yes.”

“He's an _ass-hole_ ,” Barton spits. 

Phil looks over at him in surprise. “He is,” Phil agrees, “but how do you know that?”

“Because he was practically undressing you with his eyes and he was smirking like you weren't _good_ enough, as if you aren't practically perfect,” Barton growls. 

Phil stares at him. “What?”

“Any man who's lucky enough to spend ten minutes with you, to _marry_ you, had better know how fucking lucky they are,” Barton goes on, as they reach the bar. “And that ass-hole clearly didn't.”

“I don't... ” Phil shakes his head. “Forget about him, Barton. We're here on a job.”

“Oh, we're doing the job,” Barton says under his breath, “but we're changing the game.”

Phil stares at him. “What?”

Barton looks over, and there's something challenging in his expression. “Fury wants us to make a scene, right? And he wants us to get to Dubois' room, and he wants what information LeBruit might have slipped him?”

“Yes.”

“Well, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s plan was good, but mine is better. We're going to get that information, and at the same time we're going to show your ex-husband exactly what he's been missing.”

Phil feels his stomach sink into his shoes. “Clint...” 

Barton flashes him a grin. “Trust me, sir.”

Phil doesn't have time to protest further before Barton is suddenly _right there_ in front of him. Phil stares up into his flashing eyes – they're multicoloured, and how had he never noticed that before? – and holds his breath as Barton leans in.

This kiss is nothing like their last embrace – there's nothing artificial about this. Barton takes Phil in his arms and holds him close, and then he presses his mouth into Phil's as if he _needs_ this, as if he's going to die without Phil's kiss. 

Phil can't help but arc against him – the flat, muscular planes of Barton's chest are just as inviting as he'd always suspected they would be. He feels a momentary flash of panic – a reflexive thought that is _what would David think?_ – before he lets it go. David is right there, is probably watching, and Phil refuses to feel bad about that. David's the one who let _him_ go, who didn't respect him enough to keep it in his pants.

Barton is right here, all around him, and he feels so, so good. 

By the time they break for air, Phil doesn't have to look around to know that half the party is staring at them. Phil takes in a shaky breath. “If you did that to get Dubois' attention,” he manages to say, “I think you succeeded.”

“Oh, I want _all_ the attention,” Barton says, his eyes dark. He tugs Phil forward. Phil stumbles towards him, unable to help himself, and Barton leads him over to dance floor. 

Phil tries to tell him that he doesn't know how to dance, but Barton just gathers him close and kisses him again. Phil kisses him back and lets himself be led. He's vaguely aware that they're moving closer to the left-hand side of the bar. He noticed Dubois there a second ago, but he doesn't know where David is. He's lost track of him in the crowd.

“Oh,” Barton says, as he stumbles. He's just stepped on someone's foot. “Sorry about that.”

Phil blinks to clear his head and stares – Barton has somehow walked them right into David and his partner. Phil's ex-husband is glaring at them. “No problem,” he spits.

Barton smirks again and wraps his arms around Phil, leaning back in to kiss him again. 

“You know,” David sneers, “if you're trying to flaunt him in my face to impress me, you're going to have to do a better job than that. I've already seen everything Phil had to offer and, frankly, it wasn't enough.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Barton drawls, breaking away from Phil. “I find him _plenty_ satisfying.” He gives David a withering look. “I guess you've never seen him really _apply_ himself.”

Phil glances at David's companion – the man is clearly younger than Phil and obviously uncomfortable. “Come on, Clint,” he says, tugging him. “We don't have to do this.”

“I think we do,” Barton argues, his eyes never leaving David's. “I think your ex-husband is trying to insinuate that you're unreliable, or bad in bed. I'm betting he doesn't know about that thing you do with your tongue, that – ”

And despite Phil knowing that Barton has absolutely _no_ personal knowledge of _anything_ Phil might do with his tongue, he can't quite be surprised when David hits him.

Barton is clearly expecting it. Phil sees the way he twists into the blow, countering some of the force. He still stumbles backwards, and Phil watches him land in Dubois' arms. 

“Sorry,” Barton says, shaking his head and looking up at Dubois. “Lovers' spat.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Dubois says with a chuckle. Barton steadies himself on Dubois shoulder as he gets back to his feet. Even Phil, who knows its happening, can't quite see the way his fingers disappear inside Dubois' jacket. 

“Do you need some assistance?” Dubois asks.

Clint flashes him a smile and leans away. Phil glares at David, whose shaking out his fist. “No,” he answers for Barton. “We're leaving.”

“Aww, but Phil,” Barton whines, but Phil shakes his head. 

“Absolutely not,” he says, and takes Barton's arm. He turns to Dubois. “Our apologies.”

“Of course, of course,” Dubois says, waving them away. He's staring at David with something like heat in his eyes, and then looks to David's partner, clearly calculating how much he could offer them for the night. “I understand.”

Clint steps back and Phil takes his arm. Together, the two of them slip away from the party. Phil looks back to see that Dubois has gathered some ice for David's hand and is pressing it to him at the bar, leaning in close to speak in his ear. Phil shudders and follows Barton out of the party.

Once their alone in the corridor, Barton turns and flashes him a grin, holding up Dubois' room key. “Shall we?”

Phil closes his eyes, but doesn't protest. He calls an elevator, and they stumble in, acting drunk. They crowd against the back wall to hide their faces from the camera and press close, pretending to make out. It's just pretend again, not a steamy kiss like the kind they'd shared at the party, and Phil tells himself he absolutely is not disappointed. 

They fall out of the elevator and nearly go down, laughing and grabbing at each other in a fair display of drunkenness. They make it to Dubois' hotel room and slide in the key, then stumble inside. Once there, they both straighten. They know hotel security doesn't have a camera inside individual rooms, and they systematically search the place. If Phil had read the situation right, they have only a couple of minutes until Dubois returns to the room with David in tow.

It doesn't take long to find the files. They remove the print-outs from the room safe and the electronic copy from the desk by the bed. Barton takes the motherboard from the laptop set up in the corner and looks to make sure there's no other copy around. Phil steals a bottle of champagne from the fridge and they stumble back into the corridor for the benefit of the cameras. They're in the elevator and then out of the hotel before three minutes have passed.

Once they hit the street, what just happened starts to catch up to Phil. He feels sick. He does his best to hold it together and manages to make it back to their hotel room – a nondescript suite rented under fake names – before he starts to shake.

Barton guides him to the sofa. “It's okay, it's okay. We did it.”

Phil knows his eyes are wild. “I can't believe I just did that.”

Barton sits him on the couch and then drops the motherboard on the counter. He pulls the paper files from where he had stashed them behind the waistband of his pants. “What? The meeting your ex-husband on an op, or the way we completely disregarded S.H.I.E.L.D. regs regarding mission parameters?”

Phil drops his head into his hands. “Either. Both. Also, the kissing” He looks up to glare at Barton. “What was with the kissing?”

Barton shrugs, looking discomforted. “I thought, this is my one chance to find out what you taste like? And I kinda went for it?” He looks sheepish. “Sorry, sir. That was probably a shitty thing to do.”

“Yes, it was,” Phil agrees, but there's no heat behind his words. He can't help but run a tongue over his lips, remembering that kiss. Barton's eyes track him, before forcefully looking away.

“You sit, I'll get you a water.”

Phil watches Barton as he walks to the tiny sink and turns on the tap. He's watches the long, straight line of Barton's spine and thinks about Barton's interest, his offers of dinner, and the heat in his eyes when he glared at David. Barton returns with a full glass and Phil takes it from him. “Did you – did you mean it?”

Barton looks wary. “Did I mean what?”

Phil can feel himself blush. “What you said at the party. The part about me being perfect.”

“Of course.” He looks surprised that Phil's questioning it. “Come on, sir, you had to know that I liked you.”

“I know you flirted with me,” Phil points out. “You flirt with everyone.”

“I really don't,” Barton says. He bites his lip. “I've liked you since you chased me across the rooftops of Caracas. I doubled back to watch the way you handled that op, and I've seen the way you treat people since. You're a good man, Phil, and you're insanely good looking. You're smart and capable and,” he shrugs. “I just like you. A lot.”

Phil stares at him. “So much so that you were willing to throw an op just to make me look good to my ex-husband?”

“We didn't throw the op,” Barton says, looking stubborn. “We got the intel and we got out, we just didn't do it the way S.H.I.E.L.D. expected us to. I don't think Fury will care.”

“Oh, he _will_ , he just won't argue with the results,” Phil says with a sigh, rubbing his temples. “He never liked David.”

“See, I always knew he was a good judge of people,” Barton says. He rubs his hands together and then bites his lip, looking uncertain. “So, uh, we good?”

Phil stares at him. He's trying to sort out what he's feeling. Embarrassment, for the way he acted; relief, because he's been half-dreading what would happen if he ever saw David again, and he never in a million years would have thought of this; and desire, too, because the way Barton had kissed him seemed to mean something.

“Yes,” he manages, finally. “We're good.” 

Barton looks relieved and turns around. Phil clears his throat. “But, when we get back to New York, maybe. Do you – I mean – would you maybe like to have dinner? With me?”

The grin Barton shoots him is blinding. “I would love to.”

 

The End


End file.
